


a little more light

by something1d



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: FYI, M/M, Punk!Louis, Punk!Zayn, Recreational Drug Use, dorky!harry, larry stylinson - Freeform, not Marcel though, okay, side Ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something1d/pseuds/something1d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is that odd punk kid who works at the library. Harry is that dorky, hipster kid who practically lives in the fiction section. Pining, and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright © 2014 by something1d, all rights reserved.
> 
> Hope you guys like this one <3

Louis eyes the clock around six p.m. every single night. He has to make sure that he’s organizing the “Bestsellers” table at the front of the library at six every single night (or at least pretending to be busy around said area), because it has the best view of the front doors.

It’s funny; Louis’ learned over his past couple of years of working at the small, cozy library in the center of town that the Bestsellers table is the perfect place to be if one wants to discretely watch people walk in. It’s angled ever so slightly to the right, so that he can watch guests in such a way that they won’t necessarily notice him, unless they happen to be looking to their left. Usually though, they’re facing straight ahead, which definitely works to Louis’ benefit. Plus, it’s the closest he can get without actually standing at the front doors, because that’d be creepy.

They can’t notice Louis watching. Or, they at least shouldn’t. This is the goal.

And by they, Louis means he.

He can’t notice Louis watching, because Louis really shouldn’t be watching. Because that’s generally frowned upon, isn’t it? Regularly staring at a complete stranger as they walk into a library? Even if this complete stranger is the single most attractive boy Louis has ever seen?

He tells himself this every day, as he watches the minute hand of the clock slowly edge its way toward the large twelve at the top. And yet, every day, he watches anyway.

It’s a bit difficult though – and quite ironic – he thinks as he toys with his small, black lip piercing. With the way he’s always wearing thick, dark eyeliner; the piercings in his ears, nose, and lip; the tattoos smattered up and down his arms and creeping onto his chest and neck above his V-neck t-shirts; and his habit of dressing in all black – with the biker’s gloves as a finishing touch, though he’s never driven a motorbike in his life – you wouldn’t think he’d be trying to hide. If anything, he always stands out – how many people like him work in libraries?

Over the past couple of years of him puttering around bookshelves and meandering throughout the library, he’s gotten plenty of strange looks from mothers who walk in, kids in tow, heading for the children’s section. He’s gotten lots of looks – varying from surprised, to interested, to scared – from teenage girls who walk in, backpacks slung over their shoulders in hopes of getting school assignments finished in the quiet and solitude of the study rooms in the back. He’s gotten disapproved once-overs from middle-aged fathers in baseball caps, who tend to linger around the nonfiction sections, or magazine racks.

People usually stay away from him, despite the large nametag he wears with the library logo smattered across it and the “Hi, I’m Louis!” printed in bold red underneath. Guests rarely ask him to help them find books, and if they do, it’s usually either a teenager doing it on a dare, or a particularly brave individual. And to be honest, Louis relishes that; he loves that peoples’ eyes are drawn to him in rooms, loves to see peoples’ eyes widen in curiosity, fear, or interest, whatever it may be. He laughs to himself as he sees people glare at him and scurry away.

He doesn’t really do much, other than making his daily round of restacking the piles of books that lie at the bottom of a bin just outside the door, the one with the fading “BOOK DROP OFF” sign taped to it. He spends most of his time reading, actually, because despite the stereotypes that hover around him because of the way he dresses, he fucking loves books; he’ll find novels and curl up into chairs in empty aisles and read, and when people usually walk into said aisles looking for books, they take one look at him and practically run away.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that his aunt is the manager of the place, he most likely would never have been hired.

But, basically, Louis really loves his job. He loves that he practically gets paid to just read and stack a couple of books and magazines, because people barely ever approach him to have him do work – not even his coworkers. He loves the cute public library, and how it’s become a second home to him. He loves the way he’s able to watch the looks in peoples’ eyes when they find books they really like. He loves the way he sees dozens of people rekindle their love for reading each and every day. And he really loves the boy who walks into the library at the same time each night – six o’clock, on the dot.

Okay, maybe love is a bit too strong of a word. Zayn, his best friend, would probably suggest a word such as “infatuation,” claiming that it’d be more appropriate. “Creepy obsession.” “Stalking.” Something of the like. But what does Zayn know, really?

And as Louis is scowling to himself, thinking about his jerk of a best friend, straightening a crooked book on the table, he hears the automatic doors slide open. His head snaps up, a bit of his shaggy, long fringe falling into his eyes.

Louis first sees long legs that stretch on for miles, wrapped in painted-on black skinny jeans. He then sees a flowy purple shirt only buttoned up to his sternum, tattoos peeking out the top, and Louis’ eyes widen appreciatively. And finally, his eyes make their way up to one of the most gorgeous faces Louis has ever seen in his entire twenty-two years here on earth.

His hair is pushed back by a dark blue headscarf, but a few stray strands of hair hang over the top, having escaped. Thick black glasses frame eyes that are so bright, so green, that Louis is certain that he would be able to spot them from the other side of the fucking country.

He can’t be more than nineteen years old. Louis has given this a lot of thought. He’s studied every part of this boy – well, except for the part he really wants to study, if you’re catching his drift – every single time he’s seen him, trying to figure out what kind of person he is. So yeah, he’s pretty certain that the boy’s around nineteen.

Sometimes, the boy will walk in with a beanie shoved over his hair and a tired look in his eyes. Sometimes, he’ll walk in with his hair curly, fringe drooping into his face. Sometimes he’ll walk in with a pout on his pink lips, and sometimes he’ll walk in with a sparkle in his eye and a shy smile spreading across his face, hinting at a dimple on his left cheek. Two things about him never change though: he always wears his glasses, and he’s always carrying books.

It might be a bit sad that Louis literally lives for these moments. From the moment he clocks into work, he counts the number of hours, then minutes, until this boy scurries into the library, lives for the few seconds in which he gets to admire him until he passes. He’s not ashamed, though. Mostly.

Today, though, is going to be different. Louis has had this planned for ages; everything comes down to this very moment. He braces himself, willing his thudding heart to quiet down, lest his voice shake. He’s finally going to do this.

As soon as he thinks he’s ready – and that the boy’s an acceptable distance from him so that it won’t be weird – he clears his throat. “Good evening!” he says cheerily.

The boy stops walking altogether, looking around in surprise. When he finally sees Louis, tucked in the corner behind the table, he ducks his head, and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Hi,” he mutters quietly – in an impossibly deep voice, which, what the fuck, how is that in any way fair – and rushes away, without giving Louis a second glance.

Louis sighs shakily, slumping against the table, because his heart is still pounding like crazy and his hands are trembling and he can’t for the love of god get himself together. What is it about this boy that’s gotten him to stoop to stalking and hiding, that’s given him all these nerves?

He mutters curses at himself under his breath as he watches the boy walk away, wondering why – after months of watching from afar – he hasn’t brought himself to have an actual conversation with him yet, hasn’t gone up to him while he was searching for books and fucking talked to him. Louis was barely able to say a simple hello today, and he probably came on too strong and loud and scared the boy – what’s wrong with him?

He doesn’t even know the boy’s fucking name.

****

“But he’s gorgeous, Zayn!” Louis groans, exhaling out smoke as he speaks. He takes another drag from the joint, tipping his head back onto the couch and closing his eyes.

Zayn doesn’t look up from where he’s rolling a second joint for himself. Louis takes this as an invitation to continue.

“He’s got these green fucking eyes, Z. They, like, burn into my fucking soul.”

Zayn leans back, tucking the joint between his lips and lighting it. He tosses the lighter onto the table, taking a long drag before exhaling. He rolls his eyes. “I think – “

“I could write poetry about those fucking eyes, I swear,” Louis interrupts his friend, “And don’t even get me started on his fucking legs, I’d love to fucking rip off his too-tight motherfucking jeans and show that tease who – “

“Alright,” Zayn interrupts forcefully, “You’re not allowed to smoke any more tonight.”

“But Zayn,” Louis whines again, “We’re only just getting started!”

“No, we are not. You’re done.”

Louis sighs, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table, kicking aside a water bottle and one of Zayn’s fancy art catalogues as he does so. He decides not to argue, because maybe Zayn’s got a point.

“If you’re not letting me smoke any more of your weed, you’ve got to give me something else.”

Zayn pulls a face. “Like what, cigarettes?”

Louis dismisses the offer with a wave of his hand. “Nah, I’ve got plenty of those. I don’t mean drugs, Zaynie. I mean advice. You’ve got to give me advice.”

Zayn groans, though Louis knows that he’s not actually annoyed. Hopefully. “What do you want now, Louis? Do you want me to tell you what I always tell you? Do you want me to say that you need to grow a pair and talk to the guy, which I’ve said, like, hundreds of times by now?”

Louis pouts. “I didn’t ask you to be mean about it.”

“I’m not being mean, I’m being honest. There’s a difference. Besides, you’re being ridiculous. Look at you – you’re a total catch! You should just talk to him!”

“I’ve already tried,” Louis mutters, “And he practically ran away. I guess I don’t blame him though, because I doubt that a guy like him would be interested in a guy like me.”

“Hey,” Zayn says around the joint between his lips, his tone going soft. He leans forward to rest a reassuring tattooed hand on Louis’ knee as his dark brown eyes smolder up at Louis, lined in thick black eyeliner that only works to make his eyes shine brighter. “You’ll never know until you try.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Zayn Malik. You know I’m immune to your charms, after all these years. You can’t convince me. All you want is for me to shut up about my gorgeous husband-to-be.”

Zayn cracks a smile here, the twin piercings on his lower lip jutting outward with the motion. He leans back into the couch, takes another drag, and shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”

****

So, maybe Louis was lying a little bit when he told Zayn that he couldn’t convince him to talk to the boy again. Because he thought about it for a while, and decided that he’d really like to see that bright green gaze directed at him, would really like to see those pink lips say his name, talk to him.

So as a result, he’s currently peeking through a gap between books in one of the shelves in the fiction section, watching Mystery Boy slowly flip through a novel.

He’s sitting in one of the chairs in the adjacent aisle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He adjusts the way his glasses are sitting on his nose every minute or so, and his lips silently mouth the words he’s reading as his eyes dance across the page.

He’s adorable. Louis might probably die.

Okay. Deep breaths. This is it.

He grips the two novels in his right hand tighter, hoping that his excuse of going over there to restock the shelf is believable enough. He still can’t believe he’s doing this.

And so, with shaky legs, he walks out of the aisle he’s standing it, turns right, and walks straight into the aisle that Mystery Boy is reading in.

The boy’s head snaps up from where he’d been reading, and if Louis’ not mistaken, he thinks he sees his cheeks go slightly pink. He straightens up from where he’d been curled up in his seat, and Louis has to resist the urge to run away, because he’s so beautiful and Louis is terrified.

“Hi!” is what comes out of Louis’ mouth instead as he flashes a smile at the boy, whose cheeks seem to redden even more.

The boy opens his mouth to speak, but somehow the book he’d been holding goes tumbling to the floor, and the boy’s face is fire engine red now. “Oops,” he mutters slowly. Louis quickly scurries over and leans down to pick it up, but he does so at the exact same time that the boy leans down to pick it up, and their hands brush together the slightest bit. They both pull back, as if shocked.

“Sorry,” the boy mutters again after a bit of silence, snatching the book off the floor and holding it protectively against his chest.

“S’okay,” is all that Louis manages to come up with, before he turns around and walks straight out of the aisle without another word.

He doesn’t realize that he’s still holding the books he’d meant to reshelf until he’s already walked back to the lobby.

He doesn’t realize that he still didn’t get the boy’s name until he’s already driving home.


	2. Chapter 2

“I swear though, Harry, he’s a fucking prick. I don’t understand why any sort of girl would ever like that piece of shit.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he nods. “I can’t believe he’d ever call you that! He’s probably just jealous, Ni. Don’t give him the time of day.”

Niall nods in agreement, shoving another couple of chips into his mouth. His eyes are bright and his cheeks have gone slightly pink, the way they always do when he’s ranting about something.

Harry’s sitting there, next to him at the small plastic table in the campus café at their university, the place he and Niall like to go to when they’re feeling particularly stressed or agitated.

Or, rather, when Niall’s feeling particularly stressed or agitated. Harry is merely there to back him up, being the supportive friend he is—the same way he’s always done, since he and Niall first became friends.

“Anyways, Haz, enough about me. How are you?”

Harry tries not to look too shocked or pleased. Niall barely ever asks about him. “Oh. Um. Well, I had a pretty hard exam in political science today, which obviously wasn’t very fun.”

“Mhm,” Niall says absentmindedly, chewing on another chip and staring off into space.

Harry clears his throat, trying not to mind that Niall’s not listening to him at all – because when does he ever? Unless Harry’s talking about something that has to do with him, Niall rarely ever listens.

Harry thinks about this often, but tries not to. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility that Niall could be using him as a rant-buddy, the person he can go to when he’s upset, instead of seeing him as a real friend. He doesn’t want to feel hurt when he finds out that Niall’s doing something exciting with his friends – who also happen to be Harry’s friends – without Niall having told him about it. He can’t help but feel like he’s just there, like Niall would almost always rather be spending time with someone else other than Harry.

He feels like Niall doesn’t tell him a lot of things.

Harry, on the other hand, would literally pour his heart out to his best friend. He’d tell Niall everything, if given the chance. He wants a friend that he can have a conversation with without feeling like he’s being ignored.

Is it that he’s boring? Harry doesn’t think he’s boring, but maybe Niall thinks he is. Maybe all of his friends think that he is.

He watches Niall continue nodding, even though Harry’s stopped talking. He watches Niall pull out his phone and grin at the screen, probably typing out a message to the latest girl he’s been hooking up with. He watches Niall completely ignore the fact that Harry exists, just like everybody else.

Harry ducks his head and sighs.

****

At six that night, Harry walks into the library tentatively, trying not to blush. He keeps his head ducked down, just in case Louis is standing at the Bestsellers table again.

And yes, he knows that the hot library employee’s name is Louis. When Louis had walked into the bookshelf aisle that Harry had been reading in yesterday, Harry was able to get a glimpse at his nametag. And that isn’t that creepy, right?

“Hey!” someone says brightly, and Harry’s face goes up in flames.

He already knows it’s Louis. Louis’ voice has been catalogued into Harry’s mind, etched into the crevices of his brain, even though they’ve barely had one conversation.

Harry takes care to remember beautiful things, though, carries them close to his heart.

Louis’ voice is one of them.

He looks toward the Bestsellers table without even pretending to look around for who else it might be. Louis is smiling at him, and waving him over.

Harry thinks his knees are going to buckle at any second.

He slowly scuttles over to the table, adjusting his glasses on the way, trying not to openly gape at the vibrant tattoos etched across Louis’ skin. He wants to look at each one closely, decipher its meaning.

“Hi,” Harry says quietly, clearing his throat and then ducking his head.

“Hi,” Louis says in response, and pauses. Harry looks up at him, and feels his body visibly jolt.

God, Louis’ eyes are so fucking blue. And he had known this from yesterday, when he had embarrassed himself by dropping his fucking book and accidentally going to pick it up at the same time that Louis did. He had made eye contact with Louis for barely two seconds, but even then, he had known that Louis’ eyes were the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen.

He had thought afterwards that maybe he was exaggerating, maybe he had been sleepy or something.

Now, though, he can confirm it. He tucks the image of Louis’ ice blues right next to his mental recording of Louis’ voice.

“I had just wanted to say sorry, about yesterday,” Louis continues after what feels like millions of years, even though his pause had barely been five seconds, “I hadn’t meant to interrupt your reading or anything. And then you dropped your book, and – “

“It’s okay,” Harry interrupts him, not wanting to relive that embarrassing encounter. “You didn’t do anything.”

Louis gives him a small smile. “Okay, if you say so,” he says quietly, and Harry wants to go hide under a rock for the next hundred years or so, because he can’t handle Louis looking at him with those eyes right now.

There’s another long pause, and just when Harry thinks he should probably just say goodbye and go hide behind a bookshelf in the back corner of the library, Louis speaks up again. “I like your tats,” he says, gesturing to the small tattoos Harry has on his forearms, visible from where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his sweater.

Harry’s stomach is going to jump out his throat. “Oh. Uh, thanks. Yours are, um,” he clears his throat again, “Yours are cool too.” He’s waiting for Louis to realize that Harry’s not really worth talking to, waiting for Louis to make some polite excuse and leave and pretend that they’d never had this conversation.

After all, Harry’s pretty boring, right? Everyone thinks so.

Harry tries not to visibly deflate at the thought.

He’s shocked beyond belief when Louis’ smile actually brightens, as though Harry has just saved his dog’s life or something. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever elicited that reaction from anyone before. “Thank you!” Louis says happily, eyes crinkling up at the corners, and Harry swallows thickly.

And he doesn’t know why, but Harry decides that this conversation can’t end yet. “S-sorry if this might sound like a personal question, because it is for some people,” and oh shit, he’s rambling, “but, why’d you get them?” He points at the watercolors hesitantly.

Louis takes a step closer to Harry, and Harry’s face reddens a bit. “I dunno,” Louis says, sounding legitimately confused, like he’s never thought about it before, “I just get them because they look cool. Don’t really have a meaning.”

Louis oozes confidence. This is ridiculous. “Oh. Well, that’s cool though.”

Louis eyes him curiously. “Do yours?”

Harry’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “Sorry?”

Louis just smiles at him. “Do your tattoos have a meaning?”

Harry coughs lightly, feeling stupid that he didn’t understand Louis’ question the first time. “Well, I mean. Yeah. They’re like, ways to express myself? Like art?” He ducks his head. “Sorry, that sounds stupid.”

He feels a warmth on his arm, and looks up quickly. Louis is smiling at him, hand resting over Harry’s rose tattoo on his elbow. “No,” he says quietly, “That doesn’t sound stupid at all. It sounds brilliant, actually.”

Harry blushes brightly, muttering a quiet thank you. He can’t physically move, he’s too scared to. If he does, maybe Louis will take his hand off of his arm. Harry doesn’t want that.

“Maybe you could tell me about them sometime,” Louis continues, hand still resting on Harry’s arm, and Harry’s mouth actually falls open a bit here.

When he looks into Louis’ eyes, he sees something foreign in them, something that he doesn’t see in Niall’s eyes, or Nick’s eyes, or Jeff’s. It sounds absurd, because he’s barely ever talked to this boy before, hasn’t even introduced himself, but.

Harry sees more care in Louis’ eyes than he’s seen in anyone else’s. Louis actually just listened to him, actually just focused on what Harry had to say and voluntarily had a conversation with him. It’s something so strange to Harry, something Harry’s never had any experience with before. It doesn’t make sense to him. No one listens to him. Not even his family, not even Niall – who’s supposed to be the best friend Harry’s got, although he’s sure that Niall has tons more friends that he considers himself closer to than he is with Harry– actually cares all that much about what Harry has to say.

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry breathes, and Louis’ smile grows wider, the black ring in his lip looking much too tempting at the moment.

Louis looks as though he’s about to say something else, but then a dark haired man walks up to them, eyeing Louis’ hand on Harry’s arm suspiciously. “Louis,” he says quickly, “The manager’s on the phone, she wants to speak to you.”

Louis raises his eyebrows at the man, the kohl around his eyes only accentuating his glare, making it sharper. “Okay Liam, I’ll be there in a second,” he hisses, taking his hand off of Harry’s arm. Harry’s skin simmers with the lack of contact.

The man – Liam – walks away, rolling his eyes, and Louis sighs exasperatedly. “I’ll see you around then?” he asks Harry, and all Harry can do is nod dumbly before Louis is shooting that bright smile at him again and walking away.

 

Harry captures a last mental snapshot of Louis’ blinding grin, and hides it away in his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis is surprised when, one day, the boy walks in with someone else.

The new guy’s got blonde hair and is talking to Mystery Boy – whose name Louis still somehow doesn’t fucking know, even after their conversation a few days before – and lets out a loud cackle just as they’re walking by Louis.

Louis doesn’t even get to have his daily, microscopic moment of joy, because he’s too distracted by the blonde kid to give Mystery Boy his full attention.

For this reason, Louis is pouting up and down the aisles of the library, putting books on incorrect shelves because he feels like it.

He’s in the middle of an attempt to shove a too-big book into a shelf that clearly doesn’t have enough room for it when someone taps him on the shoulder.

Louis is so surprised that someone’s actually trying to talk to him that he almost drops the book.

When he turns around, he sees the blonde guy standing behind him. He’s got a huge smile on his face, and is fidgeting, as if he’s got loads of pent up energy in his body and is just itching to let it out.

“Hi!” he says much too loudly, and yup, there it is.

“Hi. I’m sorry, but can you please lower your voice a tad?” Louis hisses back quietly, probably in a harsher tone than required. He doesn’t feel bad about it.

“Oh, sorry!” he continues loudly. Louis raises his eyebrows at him, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he says again, whispering this time.

Louis represses the urge to cringe and gives him a forced smile instead. “Thanks. What can I help you with?”

The blonde boy grins at him. “Well, Louis,” he says, pointedly looking at Louis’ nametag. Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I was just wondering if you could help me find, erm, a book.”

Louis bites back a no shit, Sherlock, what else would you be looking for in a library? “Okay. What book?”

“Actually, I forgot. Here, let’s go ask Harry, he’s the one who asked me to find it for him.”

He grabs Louis’ wrist and starts tugging him along with him, and Louis feels very violated. “Harry? Who’s – oh.”

He’s dragged Louis over to a table right behind the two or three rows of desktop computer stations that are set up next to the Children’s section. The table is empty except for none other than the gorgeous boy that Louis’ been salivating over for ages.

“Niall,” the boy says quietly, without looking up, as they approach, “please tell me you found the – “

Then he looks up and sees Louis standing there, and then he looks like he’s just swallowed his tongue.

“Harry,” the blonde boy – Niall? – says loudly, apparently forgetting the fact that Louis just asked him to be quiet (they’re in a library, for fuck’s sake), “I forgot the name of the book, and I’m horrid at finding things anyway. Tell Louis the name of the book,” he says cheerily, clapping Louis on the back, “he’ll probably be able to find it quicker than I could.”

Louis’ throat is dry, and it’s all he can do to not think about how embarrassing he was when they talked the day before. God, this boy – no, Harry is his name, and it’s incredibly beautiful – probably thinks he’s just some weirdo.

Harry clears his throat, adjusting the headscarf he’s wearing with incredibly large hands, and Louis tries to not visibly shiver. “I’m.” He coughs again, and then pushes his glasses up his nose. “Hi. I’m looking for, uh, The Color Purple. By Alice Walker?”

That’s one of Louis’ favorite books. How does this guy even exist? “Oh, that’ll be, uh – “

He stops talking, watching Harry watch him instead. Fuck it, Louis thinks to himself. “Actually, it’s easier to show you than to just explain. Follow me.”

He starts walking away – and whether he’s swaying his hips in that way that makes his arse look its best is something no one can prove– but then pauses and looks back, to make sure Harry’s following him. Niall’s turned away from the two of them, visibly shaking with something that looks like laughter – which is so odd, honestly that kid is fucking weird – and sees Harry still sitting there, watching him walk away. He raises his eyebrows at him. “You coming or what?”

“Oh!” Harry nearly squeaks, and he awkwardly pushes his chair back with a creak and stumbles after Louis. Louis ducks his head to hide the smile spreading across his face, and continues walking.

He weaves through aisles and sections – possibly taking the longer way to get there, but no one needs to know that – until they’ve finally gotten to the shelf that Harry needs.

When Louis stops walking, Harry walks straight into his back, chest slamming into him as he lets out a soft “Oof.”

He jumps back. “Sorry Louis!” he squeaks again, and Louis doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grin this time, because he’s so fucking cute it’s unbelievable. “S’okay,” Louis says back, and he earns a small smile from Harry in return. His heart flutters.

“Anyways,” he says, bringing himself back to reality. “Your book’s up there.” He stands on his tiptoes to reach, but his fingers just barely graze the bottom of the shelf. He then pouts, because this is really embarrassing.

But then Harry lets out a soft chuckle, and reaches up to easily pluck the book off the shelf – without even having to stand on his toes! – and turns to look at Louis. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Louis looks up when he says “No problem at all,” and it actually almost hurts his neck because Harry’s so tall. How had he not noticed that before?

Harry’s teeth then worry his lower lip for a bit, before he adjusts his headscarf again. He looks absolutely ridiculous, with his patterned shirts and dumb headscarves and big glasses, but Louis can’t help but love it, loves it way too much to be allowed.

“I’ll just get going,” Harry says, taking a step back. “Got to find Niall, make sure he hasn’t broken anything.”

Louis coughs. “Yeah, that’s – that’s probably a good idea.”

Harry pauses, then nods once before turning around and walking away.

“I’ll, um, I’ll see you tomorrow then, Harry?” Louis calls after him before he can stop himself, just as Harry’s about to turn the corner out of the aisle. Harry pauses, leaning back so that he can see Louis from behind the shelf. His eyes are wide, his cheeks are dusted with a pastel pink, and his lips are parted ever so slightly. He’s beautiful.

Louis takes this pause as a cue to continue. “Also, you still haven’t explained your tattoos to me.” He grins at him, and Harry’s face turns a shade pinker.

After an almost too-long pause, Harry finally opens his mouth. “Yeah,” he says finally, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Louis.”

****

“What’s got you all sunshiney today, Lou?”

Louis whips around to face Liam, who’s eyeing him cautiously. “Sunshiney? I’m not sure I know what you mean, Liam darling.”

Liam is then distracted by an elderly man who’s set a few books on the counter, presumably in hopes of checking them out. He turns around with a smile and chats with the man for a bit, while Louis continues spinning around on the wheelie chair a little ways behind him.

Once the man’s walked away with a cheerful, small “Goodbye!” waved to Liam, Liam turns back to Louis. “We’ve been working together for over a year, Tommo, and I haven’t seen you this cheerful. Ever.”

Liam is Louis’ favorite coworker, because he does loads of work and knows better than to ask Louis to do anything, and doesn’t complain about it, unlike everyone else who works with them. Good man, Liam. “I’m always cheerful, Li. Always!”

Liam snorts. “Yeah, sure. Is it that boy? The one you’re obsessed over?”

Louis turns his nose up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He spins around in the wheelie chair again, Liam rolls his eyes, and for now, they leave it at that.


End file.
